


as a thank you.

by bittertofu



Series: thirty-five ways he said 'i love you.' [7]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 07:11:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11031210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittertofu/pseuds/bittertofu
Summary: No one else could take him down.





	as a thank you.

**Author's Note:**

> a series of drabbles.

Leblanc was cool and quiet, vastly different from the noise and heat bearing down outside. Aspiring Prime Minister Masayoshi Shido's campaign car blared like an announcement for the end of the world, and people stumbled inside the cafe wiping sweat off their faces with the backs of their hands.

Akechi was there earlier than normal, and on a weekend, when it was busier than normal, too. Akira had his hands full taking orders, making coffee, making curry, serving both. Akechi's own curry sat untouched, though just from smelling it he could tell it was delicious. He hadn't ordered it; Akira set it down in front of him the moment he sat down, and when Akechi made to politely decline, Akira gave him a stern look and moved on.

It wasn't really a secret that Akechi's diet was insufficient. Truth be told, he really didn't feel all that hungry most of the time. Couldn't often stomach more than an apple in the middle of the day, perhaps a piece of school lunch bread. Anything heavier made him sick.

So he sat in silence, staring at the curry, not even bothering to stir it. His coffee steamed between his hands.

“Akira, take their order,” Sojiro's low voice boomed.

Akechi blinked, noticed the couple of Shujin girls that settled themselves into the booth by the door. He took in their details without really meaning to; it was habit, really. Short hair on one, pinched up on one side in a little bow. He figured it was supposed to be cute, but if he was being honest, it sort of made her look like the kind of little dog that rich people carried around in their purse. The other girl had long hair pleated into a high french braid, with glasses sliding down the end of her sweaty nose. No matter how often she shifted them back up, they slipped back down. He bit back a snort at the futility of it.

Akira went up to them quickly, professionally, order pad in hand.

A _look_ flittered across the girls' faces, recognition, scandal, barely disguised distaste. Just what was that about?

“Hey, aren't you—” started the short-haired girl. The other one nudged her.

“The coffee and curry special, please,” the braided girl asked, curt in her speech.

Akira regarded them a quiet moment in the same way they regarded him, but with more of an innocent question in the tilt of his head. He nodded at them and hurried back behind the counter, where he poured the coffee and ladled scoops of curry over beds of steaming rice.

It was hard not to overhear the girls when the spoke, because they weren't exactly quiet.

“It _is_ him,” said the short-haired one. “The one who's under probation for assault. I see him skulking in the halls sometimes. To think he'd be working in a place like this. Isn't that dangerous?”

“I'm surprised he could get a job anywhere, after what he's done. Honestly, they shouldn't even have let him into our school. What kind of message is Shujin trying to send? That it's okay to attack whoever?”

Akechi bristled. He looked to Akira. It was obvious he'd heard them, too. It showed in the rising of his shoulders, in the tightening of his jaw.

Well. It was true Akira had assaulted someone. Akechi had looked into his records, though, and he knew there was something suspicious about the whole affair. The woman who testified...her words even on the page rang false. As if she'd recited something off of a teleprompter. Akechi had his suspicions as to what really happened, but it was none of his business. Besides, why should he care what people said about Akira Kurusu?

When Akira returned to their table, two plates of curry in one hand, two mugs of coffee in the other (Akechi marveled at the skill required to do such a thing, didn't think he could ever do it himself), the short-haired girl couldn't keep her mouth shut.

“You're not welcome, you know,” she said, her high-pitched voice grating poignantly on Akechi's nerves. “No matter what Kamoshida did, I think he was right about you. Shujin shouldn't have accepted someone with a criminal record.”

Akira tilted his head at them again. Turned to leave. The braided girl glared at his back.

“So you don't have anything to say in your defense?” she quipped. For some reason, the undisguised disgust in her voice made Akechi hate her with every fiber of his being. “I knew it. You really did assault someone. You're an honest-to-god criminal!”

“Something wrong?”

That was Sojiro. He'd gone over to the table, arms crossed.

“How could you hire someone like him?” the short-haired girl squealed. “What if he attacks your customers!”

“Haven't had a problem so far,” said Sojiro, rubbing at his chin. “Who I hire is my business, don't you think?”

Both girls shook their heads. One of them spotted Akechi watching. Her eyes widened in recognition.

“Oh, it's you! The detective prince! Goro Akechi, right?”

His name in her mouth felt sour and wrong in his guts. Still, he smiled politely at her.

“My, I was hoping I could maintain my anonymity here. It's a nice quiet place, most of the time.”

“What do you think,” the short-haired girl asked, “about this place hiring a criminal. It's wrong, right?”

Akechi looked to Akira, who seemed so, so tired suddenly. Shoulders hunched forward. Lips curled down in the barest hint of a frown. A lump Akechi couldn't explain formed in his throat. It was...wrong to see Akira like this. Without his bravado. Without his easy, sly smirk. Defeated. No one should be able to defeat him but Akechi.

“I think,” Akechi said, voice low, an edge away from feral, “it's none of your business.”

His polite smile never left his face as he spoke, but the girls both stiffened. They shuffled in their seats, looking everywhere and anywhere but at Akira, but at Sojiro, but at Akechi. Especially Akechi. Irritation welling from deep inside of him, he stood and strolled over to their table. He planted his hands on top of it. Sojiro stared at him with interest, Akira with blatant shock.

“Do you know anything at all about this boy?” Akechi asked, honey and bloodlust dripping oh so sweetly from his voice. “You throw accusations around without even bothering to do your research. But you know, slander is a crime.”

“Sorry,” the braided girl said stiffly. “We didn't mean anything by it.”

“Oh, no?” asked Akechi. He leaned back from the table and put his hands innocently behind his back. “I suppose that's alright, then. What do you think, Kurusu?”

And there it was. Akira's smile. Akechi's heart fluttered.

“No harm done,” said Akira, sweeping himself back behind the counter.

Everyone in the cafe was watching. When Akechi turned to look at them, they all pretended to be doing anything else. Akechi nodded, once. Headed back to his own place at the counter. Stared into his curry, picked up the spoon, took a bite.

It was heavy and a little spicy on his tongue. Way too rich. Delectable, though. With a small grin of satisfaction, he spotted the girls leaving out of the corner of his eye. They left their payment on the table and ducked out of Leblanc without ever touching their coffee or curry.

Good riddance.

He stayed until close, as was usual for him lately, especially now that he had nothing much to do in his “investigation” except keep tabs on Akira Kurusu and his Phantom Thieves activities. Even Sojiro left long before him, without his even realizing it. He'd only made it halfway through his curry, and it sat sad and globby in front of him, gone cold.

“Well,” he said, standing, wincing at the stiffness in his back and in his legs, “I suppose I should be heading out now. I think I've far overstayed my welcome.”

He cast a sweet smile in Akira's direction and turned for the door. Before he could react, Akira was on him. Hands on his shoulders, spinning him around. Mashing their lips together, furious, full, desperate. Akechi couldn't do anything but get swept up in it. Teeth and tongues, teeth and tongues. Akira's hands roaming his body, pulling him closer, holding him tighter. Akechi clutching helplessly to the front of Akira's shirt.

When they finally pulled apart, foreheads pressed together, Akira's arms around Akechi's waist, their breaths came hard and ragged.

“Thank you,” Akira whispered, kissing Akechi once more, a soft peck.

Akechi pulled carefully away. His whole body felt flushed. His head buzzed. All of him buzzed.

“I...I...” He searched for something, anything to say. He came up blank.

Akira smiled at him.

“Get home safe,” Akira said, and Akechi's face crawled with heat.

He nodded, once, quick, and hurried out of the cafe, out of Yongen-Jaya, as fast as his legs would take him.

 


End file.
